Written by: Darrell Boyle
Copyright Darrell Boyle, 2003
Where : Punta Allen in Ascension Bay, Yucatan Peninsula, State of Quintana Roo, Mexico.
When : January 18 - 25, 2003
Who : Salinas fishing buddies, including Sam Eastman, Dick Stewart, Bill Barbee, Dennis Harper, and of course Willie Reeves and yours truly Darrell Boyle
Outfitter : Ed Blank. Adventures On The Fly. Web: www.flyfishingheaven.com . Phone: 617.974.8764
Guides : Jose, Carlos, Edwin, Antonio
Species : Bonefish, Permit, Tarpon, Barracuda, Yellowtail Jacks.
Imagine two-pound fish strong enough to take a heavy nine-weight outfit 150 yards into the backing on its first run. Imagine standing on the platform of the boat doing the jig to keep from being tangled in the slack line at your feet that is rapidly disappearing through the guides of your rod. Imagine working to keep your hand away from the rapidly whirling reel handle that wants to crack your knuckles as the hooked bonefish streaks for deeper water. You've just met the amazing bonefish! That's the big appeal of bone fishing.
When you can see them in time to react and have not yet spooked them, and you can reach the fish in the wind (there is always wind) or get in front of a moving fish or school, and you don't spook the fish with your cast, and you wait appropriately to start your strip and you don't strip it too fast, they still reject the fly some high percentage of the time. Now, imagine an extremely shy and wily critter hunting the shallow flats for crabs and other edibles in only 18" of water, just ready to flee to deeper water if any shadow or sound disturbs him. Then also imagine the need for longs casts and delicate presentations, plus the almost constant wind, and you will have some idea of the challenges facing anyone fly fishing for bonefish. And, that is just in getting a take. Once the fish is on you need to stay out of the way of the line long enough to let the reel do its work to gently slow the fish if you want to avoid a broken leader. If all goes well, five to ten minutes later you be smiling broadly while releasing your bonefish.
Our destination was the Mexico's Yucatan peninsula, specifically an area of Ascension Bay called Punta Allen, so named for the lighthouse jutting into the bay. In the Mayan language "Allen" is the name for crocodile, and indeed some of our gang got close to some rather big ones, and "Punta" means point. We got there by flying to the Caribbean resort city of Cancun and driving 90 miles south. The first part of the land journey was on a normal modern highway driving past seemingly endless resorts, but once we left the paved road we were in for one hellacious ride. This was the worst road I have driven for any distance anywhere, and it is a good argument for never going back. Top speed was probably ten miles per hour and there was no way to count the number of holes on this sand road which never strayed far from the breaking waves. Thanks to recent rains many of the holes were filled with water and our hired driver tried whenever he could to avoid these puddles. For good reason: some were deep enough to hide a Volkswagen.
To prove I am not just whinging (Kiwi for whining) about just any bumpy road, Conor and I fished with guide Bob Houghton on the McKenzie River in Oregon in July, 2003. Bob claims to have opened Punta Allen to fly fishing for bonefish and to have trained the first local guides. He went there himself first and later took clients for many years but has not gone for quite a while. He says he never will again because of the road . Unfortunately, there is only limited small plane service because of concerns about drug smuggling by Mexican and American law enforcement agencies. Most folks, including me, would prefer a bumpy ride to the risk being shot out of the sky as a suspected drug runner.
On the way to Punta Allen the road passed the entrance to the Sian Ka'an Biosphere Reserve, created in 1986 and included in the UNESCO list of World Heritage Sites the following year. The name Sian Ka'an is Mayan for "where the sky is born." Its 1.8 million acres of tropical forests, marshes, mangroves, lagoons, bays, and coral reefs are home to 350 species of birds, over 100 mammals, and 800 plant species. The innermost zone is kept completely natural with no human activity allowed in able to preserve the unique environment. More than 30 Mayan architectural sites are found in the Reserve and some 1000 people of Mayan heritage reside there. The famous ruin of Tulum is just minutes off the road to Punta Allen but unfort unately our schedule did not allow time for exploring.
Our Mayan guides spoke the official Mexican language of Spanish, but they also still speak Maya. They sadly report that their language is no longer taught in schools and fear it will be lost to future generations. They say their children don't want to bother with the language of their grandparents. The English spoken by the guides centered mostly on fishing phrases but it was certainly adequate. They were particularly good at telling you "Boney coming," admonishing you to "cast farther," and to "streep, streep, streep" (strip) the line as the bonefish turned to follow the fly. These were really fine, hard working people with a quick smile and great knowledge of our query. Their ability to spot our elusive prey was superb and Jose was particularly skilled at finding the prized permit. They waded without boots and their calloused feet were a testament to the often rough bottom and their toughness.
We arrive after dark on Saturday at the Cuzan Guest House, which was located at the end of the road at the lobster fishing village of Javier Rojo Gomez. Situated at the north end of Ascension Bay, it provided great access to the Bay's 20 square miles of shallow flats of white sand, marl, turtle grass and mangrove tangles and channels. Cuzan's rustic but comfortable thatched roof cabins are on the beach, and we listened to the pounding waves as we drifted into dreams of tomorrow's challenges. Each palapa came equipped with bug canopied beds and a private bath, with recently added hot water and 24 hour electricity. The restaurant and bar was in a thatched hut just back from the beach with a sand floor and mostly outdoor kitchen. The meals provided by Jose and his wife were outstanding, much better than could be expected. Hostess Amy made us feel at home and owner Sonja Lilvik, who showed up unexpectedly, told yarns about the adventures of starting the first resort in this secluded and unknown place.
The typical day started with a hearty breakfast around 7:00 a.m. Then back to the palapa to gather gear, and by 8:00 a.m. or so (remember this is Mexico) meeting at the pier where guides and boats stood ready start the sprint across the bay. We determined partners at breakfast with the idea that we would each get to fish with one another some time during the six days. Willie and I partnered the first day with guide Edwin who headed his open ponga south across the bay through choppy conditions. It took about an hour of blasting across open water and snaking through mangrove channels before we started looking for bonefish. We didn't even see our first fish until after noon. It was windy and cold throughout the day, with water temperatures around 68 degrees. It turned out to be a tough day for fishing; we didn't even have a hook-up all day. Our buddies didn't fare much better - only Dick Stewart landed a fish. Why is it always Dick?
As fly fishermen know so well, fishing isn't just catching fish. It is being where fish live. Ascension Bay is a lonely and beautiful place and this day the sky was filled with dramatic cumulous clouds, and when the sun was visible the water was the classic turquoise blue found only on the shallow flats of the Caribbean Sea. We drifted under an almost tame bald eagle perched surprisingly close to the water. We cut the engine and spent minutes watching and listening to hundreds of frigate birds in their mangrove rookery. The racket they made was amazing and we found occasional pairs of nesting pelicans tucked in amongst their noisy neighbors. We also saw lots of herons and egrets and many toucans and cormorants. Mucho pajaros. Muy bonito.
After a jarring boat ride home we showered and gathered on the deck outside Dick and Dennis' palapa for drinks and lies. Unfortunately, due to the day's sparse results, the lying period was cut painfully short, depriving us of one of life's great pleasures. Dinner that night more than made up for our short confab, however, giving us an indication of culinary treats to come. Following dinner it was one (ok, two) drinks before retiring to our individual cocoons of bug netting.
Monday and Tuesday were largely a repeat of Sunday's cool weather which made the bonefish pretty scarce. We learned that with cooler temperatures the bonefish prefer to stay in the deeper sheltered waters. Bill Barbee and I were in our boat when a school of bonefish headed our way. By noticing unusual choppy water in the distance, guide Carlos spotted bonefish running toward us along the edge of the mangrove. He had us cast our crab flies in their path and "wait...wait...wait....strip, Strip, STRIP." It worked and we were both fast into fish exploding away from the boat and the pull of our lines. We doubled! But, that was all the boneys for us that day. After we returned to the Cuzan we learned that among our group only Sam had also caught a bonefish. The next day was a repeat of cool weather and only Sam caught a bonefish. Why is it always Sam?
We were eating and drinking just fine and the camaraderie was the best, but in three days of fishing six of us (seven if you count outfitter Ed who split his time between coaching and fishing) had only landed five bonefish. You don't have to be a math wizard to figure out that we weren't doing very well, to put it mildly. It is one thing to talk about the beauty of being where fish live but altogether another thing to go days with only beauty to brag about. It kind of challenges a man's sense of humor. Actually, Dick had a little excitement on Tuesday by catching a barracuda that took him 200 yards into his backing before breaking off. We also saw four feet long sand sharks cruising slowly past the boat and graceful eagle rays slowly winging their way through the water. We spotted diving osprey and could almost always see the large bent wing frigate birds soaring high in the sky.
To make matters worse an interloper had come into the lodge Monday night and he had the gall to land three fish on Tuesday. Gordon Kelsey was from south east Kentucky and a fine fellow to be sure, but we didn't think it was entirely right to have him just show up and catch fish without first paying some dues. The fact he had never fished for bones before made it even harder to swallow. However, the tequila was in abundant supply and easy to swallow so were soon able to forgive Gordon for his success.
Water temperatures had warmed to between 72 - 76 degrees on Tuesday and we were optimistic this would bring the bonefish onto the flats the next day. Dick and I fished together on Wednesday and outfitter Ed joined us in the boat piloted by guide Antonio. I learned a great deal that morning with Ed coaching about sight casting to single or double bonefish while wading in very skinny water. I only landed one but had several attempts at skittish fish. Often one or two fish were cruising slowly in search of food in the sand so the cast needed to be far enough in front of them to prevent spooking them, plus the fish needed to maintain a straight path. Most often the cast was either too close to the bonefish (due to a poor casting or a shift in winds) or the fish changed directions and never saw the fly. This was fairly technical fishing with lots of frustrating misses but it was very exciting, particularly when the fish were "tailing" with their nose in the sand and their tails sticking out of the water.
Fishing with Antonio, Dick did well that morning landing three bonefish. Things were definitely looking up. Following lunch, I fished with Antonio while Dick and Ed worked together close the beach. Antonio and I were wading in a stretch of water farther out from the beach than our mates that was almost waist deep with more color on the bottom, so visibility was limited, for me anyway. Not so for Antonio. Sometimes guides notice a disturbance on the surface or see a fin or some movement they cannot describe. Whatever it was, their ability to pick up fish at distances was remarkable. For two hours that afternoon, as we paralleled the beach of the small island, I was in the lucky spot and was almost constantly into fish. I rarely saw the fish Antonio had me cast to, but cast I did, never doubting he was right. Often my cast was short and he would say "cast again, farther." Each take was followed by a long run (or several runs) and then a struggle to bring these small but powerful fish in. We quickly released the bonefish and were immediately in the hunt for others. Hearing regular hollers from our buddies, we looked up to see bent rods and big smiles.
When we returned to the lodge that evening we learned that everyone had had a great day. Among our group of six, we landed over 20 bonefish that day, surpassing our combined total from the previous three days five times. Yes, it was also a beautiful day, but now we were talking about catching and fighting fish. In addition, Dennis, who was fishing with guide Jose, the Permit Prince, had some casts to the prized permit and actually hooked one. The sudden tug on his line was explosive, and then nothing, as the leader had parted the flyline connection. Also, while casting to permit, he hooked a jack and a bonefish that were rude enough to grab the fly before the permit could take it. Both types of fish are known to school with the permit and the guides said they often pick up the fly before the permit can find it. The lies from our group were particularly colorful that evening and we lingered a bit longer before heading to dinner.
That evening we were particularly jovial over drinks and dinner and Willie of course had some jokes to tell. Gordon, our Kentucky friend, had lots of Appalachian hillbilly stories to share, each made all the more interesting because of his nasal twang. Poor Gordon had to repeat many lines due to our old and untrained ears. He was a good sport about it all, however, and told the now famous white goat tale which I will pass along here.
Two old boys from the hills were walking through the woods one day when they came to an abandoned farm with a well in the front yard. (Gordon called this a wa-il and we thought he said whale until he told us, "No, it wasn't a whale, but a wail, a water wail" ). The first hillbilly said he thought there was still water in the well and he dropped a pebble into the opening and they both leaned over to hear it splash into the water below. They heard nothing, so the old boy picked up a larger rock and dropped it into the well. They leaned farther over the opening and waited, but still they didn't hear a thing. Not wanting to give up, the old boy said he just knew there was water there and suggested they find something even bigger. They search around and found a railroad tie, which they dragged to the well opening, hoisted it over the edge and pushed it down the hole. They were leaning over the hole when they heard a commotion from the woods and were just able to jump out of the way as a white goat ran out of the trees and jumped straight down the well. Now, this was something they had never seen before. They were still scratching their heads when a farmer came out of the woods and asked them if they had seen his goat. They looked at each other, uncertain if they should tell anyone what they had just seen, but decided to confess they had just seen a white goat run out of the woods and jump down the well. After listening politely the farmer said, "Nah, that couldn't have been my goat - he was tethered to a railroad tie."
Thursday dawned with great optimism and we ate breakfast a little faster and gathered early on the dock. Dennis and I paired this day with guide Jose and we were quickly off across the bay. We fished different water in shallows between several small sand islands and found large schools of bonefish cruising rapidly through the flats. We left the boat to avoid spooking the fish and waded to intercept the moving school so we could cast in its path, stripping in our fly as the fish approached. The school was large enough to see a dark mass moving in the distance and it was muy exciting to anticipate all these hungry fish approaching. Jose thought there were 200 or more bonefish in one school. Of course, often the school veered away, but sometimes we were in the right spot and we hooked, fought and landed lots of bonefish and a few jacks.
Later, in the afternoon while fishing first from the boat and then wading, I was able to cast to the elusive permit. We never saw permit tailing; the few we saw were always cruising. Jose got very animated when he spotted permit moving in waist deep water, and he said the group at which I cast contained at least a half dozen permit including some big ones. I finally got a good cast, and just like Dennis a few days earlier, picked up a yellowtail jack running in front of the permit. Damn. Minutes later, after much frustration casting woefully short in the wind, I indeed hooked a permit but it immediately broke my line. I think I need to be a lot better fisherman before landing one of these rockets.
Back at the lodge the mood was ebullient. Our group had done even better this day. Dennis and I may have been the luckiest since we had found the large schools but each in our group did well individually, and we landed somewhere close to 30 bonefish overall. Now we're talking. Everyone had had a great day. With the margaritas flowing, the lying reached new heights that evening. We lingered a little longer over a wonderful dinner enjoying the camaraderie of the group.
That night a cold front moved in and the winds were fierce and we awoke with hopes the weather wasn't too severe to venture out. Dick and I fished together again and we took a tough pounding in the open waters of the bay. The swells were often considerably higher than our heads and we wondered to ourselves and occasio nally each other if it was wise to even be out on the water. We tried for several hours to find fish in the protected waters of the mangrove islands but couldn't find a fish and surrendered in the early afternoon and headed in. While navigating one of the tight mangrove channels, which often required pushing the branches aside to pass, we met another boat at fairly high speed on a blind curve. The bow of the other boat met our ponga slightly behind where Dick and I sat and actually climbed up and partially over our boat. Both guides had swerved their bows enough to avoid a head-on collision and our guide pushed the bow of the other boat off us as we coasted past one another. We usually saw only a few other boats an entire day, so it was an event to even see another boat, let alone run into one. This was definitely a close call.
After a one hour bone jarring and cold trip back to the lodge we gathered over drinks to exchange stories. There wasn't much talk about since we didn't have even a single fish among our whole group. Our last dinner made up for the day, however, and we enjoyed a fine Caribbean lobster meal. After dinner we gathered for pictures with the group and guides.
The next morning we were up a little earlier to pack and by 8:00 a.m. we were in the hired van on our way to Cancun. We had the same stoic driver and were unfortunate ly on the same road. I'm sure the two go together. Since we lacked the excitement that always accompanies the start of an adventure, our journey on the road that Saturday morning seemed to take forever.
Most of the bonefish we caught were around 2 pounds but they ranged occasionally up to 4 pounds. The jacks were similarly sized. We did very well on bonefish, jacks and perch and had fun the whole time. We looked for tarpon, which known to be in Ascension Bay during other months, but were unable to find anyway. We cast to a few permit with no luck. Colder weather and water temperatures made for tough fishing some days, and during four of our six days the fishing was pretty tough. We were compensated, however, by two days outstanding fishing. These were the warmest days with water temperatures into the mid-70s. It could be that we were a little early in the season and we would want to think about that before planning another trip. But, then again, the weather can turn bad and the fishing can be off anytime. That is why we so much appreciated the two great days.
For those readers who care about these things, the following provides some of the details of our fishing gear and a few things we learned about techniques. Spotting fish was the key and we needed to see them in time to react, but before getting too close and spook ing them with the boat, which must look like a big predator to the small bonefish. We also needed to worry about making a noise in the boat or throwing a shadow with the cast. We needed to reach the fish in the often present wind or cast in front of moving fish. Whether they were moving or tailing we needed a delicate presentation to avoid scaring the fish back to deeper water. When we had the chance to cast ahead of moving fish, we needed to wait interminably to start stripping the line to pull the fly off the bottom so the fish could see it, but we had to be careful not to strip-in the line too fast and take the fly away from the fish. All of this was pretty exciting because we knew the fish could strike at any moment. Last, we learned to expect the bonefish to reject the fly a good percentage of the time. Even when you do everything right, stuff happens. And that was just to get the take.
Once the fish took the fly we needed to strip-set when the take was felt. Set-strip refers to stripping (pulling) the line rather than lifting the rod to take slack out of the line and set the hook. Sounds simple and it is, but it isn't easy. The problem is that as trout fishermen we have been programmed to lift the rod to accomplish this glorious feat since we were wee lads fishing with worms and bobbers. It's automatic for us; it's in our DNA. In fact by the ti me a fisherman reaches our age he is usually pretty good at this, and that makes him pretty bad at remembering to strip-set. Sometimes we needed to strip the line twice to set the hook. How can we remember that when a fish is trying to eat the fly?! If we tried to set the hook by lifting the rod, we were pretty much guaranteed a break-off. Even thought we were using 10 pound tippet and the bonefish were only 2 pounds we learned to forget about the normal rules of physics. These fish could toast your tippet. If we made it through all of the above, and the fish felt the hook, we needed to get out of the way of our slack line while it burned through the rod guides. Bonefish swim 25-30 mph and it was essential to get them on the reel to put steady pressure on the line to slow them down. Since we invariably had a lot of line in the water or at our feet in the boat, some fish were lost at this time. All fishermen confess to losing bonefish during this part of the drill. Sad but true.
We used 8 and 9 weight rods, and most were fast action rods for long casts in windy conditions. Double hauling was a helpful distance casting technique but not required since casts were usually 40 - 60 feet. It was often blowing and occasionally almost too windy to cast, and it seemed like the wind was always blowing into your face, never from behind where it could help. We were coached to forget the old saw "ten o'clock two o'clock" for casting because that dog don't hunt on the flats. Using a side arm cast, with the arm lowered almost to water level, was helpful because it reduced wind resistance and allowed us to reach out farther. Once while wading for a permit I needed to cast directly into the wind which was strong enough to bring the entire leader back toward me, making the cast too short to be effective. After watching me repeatedly struggle to get the line out farther, the guide grabbed my line and cut the leader in half so I could punch further into the wind. This worked and I hooked the permit, but it broke off anyway. Bummer.
We used floating fly lines, with 12 foot tapered leaders and 10 pound tippet. The flies used were bone fishing standards: Crazy Charlie, Gotcha, and a light brown crab, all in sizes 6-8.
Depending on the location and the conditions we either cast from the bow platform of the ponga, with each partner taking his turn, or by wading in the shallow waters. Both techniques had their advantages and both were effective. My preference was to be out of the boat wading partly because it freed both fishermen to cast to whatever they could find.
In my limited experience (and I am not an expert from this one trip), there are two keys to a successful trip, at least in terms of ca tching bonefish. The first is pretty obvious but not always possible to affect: the fish need to be there. From our experience on this trip, finding fish was directly related to water temperature. When water temperatures were below 70 degrees the fish were not to be found. On the other hand, we did our best during afternoons where the water temperature reached 76 degrees. A few degrees made an incredible difference. The second key to success was having a guide who could spot fish. In all cases this was sight fishing. Except for when we were searching (unsuccessfully) for tarpon along a mangrove island, we never made blind casts. Occasionally I was able to pick up fish with some regularity, but most of the time I never saw the fish to which the guide had me cast. Without our guides and outfitter Ed, the bragging on this trip would have been limited to scenery, camaraderie, and food. Not bad, but we had of course hoped for one more thing.
Now that I've droned on for pages about fishing and have probably convinced the reader that all of this really matters, it is time to get to the real heart of this trip. We laughed a lot. What I mean is: we really laughed a lot. There was no mishap or oddity too small to draw the spot light of the group and bring laughing tears to our eyes. We didn't laugh at each other as much as with each other. OK, that is not entirely true, as Dennis knows. Dennis' old friend Dick talked hostess Amy into making a presentation using Dennis freshly laundered unders one night during dinner. It may have been ugly, but the laughter helped us digest an over-the-top meal that night. Sam taught us how to howl while pouring martinis on roads that were more appropriate for air sickness bags. Dick's devilish actions caught us whenever we let our guard down - how does he come up with these things? The two Doctor Bills kept us going with stories of wild and adventurous times and tips on how to live them right now. Sam was so smart to originate this annual event which brought together two generations to share the fun and magic of being in primitive places with, all right let's admit it, primitive people. I have been lucky enough to have been invited along for the ride and I can't express how much fun it has been. I can't wait for our next trip to Argentina.
Copywright. Darrell Boyle, 2003.
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